


Something Red

by dezolis



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezolis/pseuds/dezolis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a prompt from the asoiaf kinkmeme.  Oberyn knows who Connington really wants and can't resist teasing because he wants it rough and angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Red

Oberyn liked the red hair. Such color was unheard of in Dorne. Oh, the Dornish that lived in the mountains would occasionally have a tint of strawberry in their blond locks, but there was nothing like the dark red that adorned Jon Connington’s head and beard and, as Oberyn imagined and was deeply curious to confirm, the thatch of hair around his cock.

What he hated was the reticence, the denials and the angry, awkward invectives Jon would hurl his way when Oberyn would approach with offers for what the gloriously red-haired man obviously wanted.

“Leave him be,” Elia insisted, though she’d never been particularly comfortable around that particular friend of her husband. She’d been grateful to Oberyn for informing her why Jon had always seemed to be judging her and finding her wanting, but it wasn’t knowledge she cared to dwell on, nor have her brother exploit so he would have another story to add to his already lengthy list of sexual escapades.

“If he’s with me, he won’t be mooning over your husband,” Oberyn argued. “He might even discover he has a fondness for snakes.”

“I thought you’d already established that.”

Even japing, she was serious about him keeping away and he, dutiful little brother he was, agreed. Until Oberyn saw the object of his dubious desires following after his good brother like a pup starving for a bone. Until he saw the wasted longing in those pale blue as Jon stared at an oblivious Rhaegar. Until Oberyn began picturing Jon kneeling before him, putting that longing to use on him while he twined his fingers through that red hair.

Really, it would be doing the both of them a favor. A man shouldn’t waste away because he can’t admit what he wants.

So when Jon had to part from Rhaegar’s company, Oberyn fell in step behind him. A huff of disgust was the only acknowledgement he got. It was better than those piteous protests that he had no idea what Oberyn wanted or why he thought he could get it from him.

The Red Keep had any number of hallways that twisted and turned and kept its occupants shielded from prying eyes. For a reason Oberyn did not know but was nonetheless intrigued by, Jon led him down one such hall, stopping after they reached an alcove carved into the castle wall that offered further protection.

It was words, not deeds, that Jon wished to hide. He turned and sneered at Oberyn. “If you were not the brother of my friend’s wife, I’d gladly let you make yourself the fool in front of the whole court. But you are, so I’ll give you your warning here –”

“Such posturing,” Oberyn interrupted. “You brought me here because you feared the court would understand the truth beneath my pursuit.”

Jon was fuming. His cheeks were nearly the red of his hair, the blush highlighting the freckles that dotted them. “I told you –”

It was Oberyn’s to tell him. He interrupted again, using his hand against Jon’s stomach to push his body against the alcove’s wall and his lips on Jon’s mouth to push back his head.

He met no resistance. Oberyn was both pleased and disappointed. Pleased that Jon did not try to push him away. Disappointed that his welcome was so…meek. Jon was as a shy maiden dutifully accepting a kiss from an appointed suitor, not a man finally allowing himself to be free.

Oberyn cared not for merely pliant lovers. Passion was a thing to be shared, to be met eagerly and fiercely. Where had that anger in Jon gone? He should be letting that heat fuel his celebration of freedom.

So Oberyn pulled away and took in the man before him. Jon stared back, eyes wide. _He’s afraid_ , Oberyn thought. _Afraid of what he wants_.

The quickest way to quash fear, the slyest way to kindle passion, was to bring back the anger that had fled. _Let him rage. Let his blood burn away the fear_.

“Displeased, are you? You wish my skin to be paler, for my hair to silver instead of black?”

Jon turned away, color showing again on his face. Shame, Oberyn guessed. A first step on the path.

“I don’t blame you. Would that I could take my sister’s place in bed for a night. Such a pretty thing to look at. So gallant, so talented. Can you imagine those hands strumming the muscles of your body?” Oberyn laughed. _Of course he has. Night after lonely night_.

“Would that I could…” Oberyn repeated in a wistful sigh. “I would make him sing.”

That sent Jon a few steps further along. His eyes seemed to pale as his anger rose. Oberyn thought he was beautiful. _Just one more push_.

He leaned in close to Jon, his mouth skating by his cheek and stopping to exhale a warm breath and the truth into his ear.

“He’s never going to fuck you.”

Oberyn knew he deserved being slammed against the wall, knew it and savored it. Whatever Jon would do to him, it would be with his whole heart. The punch and the split lip it gained him were well earned too. All of it was worth the sight of Jon standing before him, seething with fury and a brilliant red flicker of desire.

When Oberyn kissed him this time, Jon met him in kind. He pushed Oberyn again into the wall, so hard that the stone dug into his back but Oberyn felt nothing but the tongue that was licking up the blood from his split lip. Jon relented only enough to let the stone be replaced by the tip of his fingers.

Oberyn would have laughed if his mouth was not otherwise occupied so he let his hands show his amusement, clutching Jon’s thighs and letting them wander slowly down. Then they traveled up and around where Oberyn grasped tightly to pull Jon’s groin closer to his own.

The shock of it caused Jon to break the kiss, though not the embrace. He was panting heavily and Oberyn thrilled in seeing that the flicker had grown into a flame. Nothing for him to do but stoke it further.

He set his hands to working the laces of Jon’s breeches and his effort was rewarded by a series of kisses and bites being placed along his neck. A lesser man might have been driven to distraction but Oberyn kept at his work, pausing only to stroke what lied under the laces. He took his time, a pull of a lace here and a caress there. When he was done, he peeled the breeches down and took a moment to enjoy the sight of Jon straining against his smallclothes before he slid them down as well.

Oberyn smiled. The hair there was every bit as thick and red as he’d hoped. He ran his fingers through once, twice, then dropped to his knees to better take Jon’s cock into his mouth.

It was over quicker than he liked, but Oberyn did not mind. Nor did he mind that the name Jon moaned when he came was not his. Any other man, he might have turned him round and bent him over so he could take his pleasure, but Oberyn did not mind foregoing this either. He’d gotten what he wanted.

Oberyn rose and planted a deep, final kiss on Jon’s lips. His lust spent, Jon began coming back to his old self, quickly pulling up his breeches and backing away.

Oberyn would allow him this small regression. A man could only be pushed so far before he was pushed too far. Getting Jon to admit there was a line to be crossed had been an effort. Getting him to cross it was the only reward Oberyn needed. Besides, Oberyn was sure, this was but the first crossing of many. A bit of patience now would make their next encounter sweeter.

For while Oberyn liked the red hair, he was finding the man who wore it even more intriguing.


End file.
